


In His Power

by cela



Category: Once Upon A Time In Hollywood (2019)
Genre: Begging, Crying During Sex, I'm not sure if I should feel ashamed, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 19:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20120086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cela/pseuds/cela
Summary: They don't need to talk about it. They can just fuck instead.





	In His Power

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first fic ever and it's just sex. Ha. This is the first fiction I've written since freshman year of high school, for your information. I guess I'm just tired of writing imaginary prompts for PWPs in my head. Wrote it all at 1 AM after seeing the movie, on a pure whim. I can't be the only one who walked out of the theater with X-rated scenes rolling through my head, can I?

It’s an easy Saturday evening, and Rick’s lying in the pool on his float with a glass of Hennessy, his first. The sun’s filtering through the edges of the palmettos over him. Cliff walks over to the side of the pool, his thumbs hooked in his jean pockets, and looks down on him. “You told me yesterday to shoot you in the head if you ever had another glass.”

“Yeah, well, I was drunk. And I shoulda known better than to ask a drunk to carry me through all 1200 baby steps of AA.”

He’s not floating that far from the edge. Currents do that. If he wants to stay smack dab in the middle in a movie-worthy shot, he has to kick off every now and then. Cliff sticks out a foot, hooks his armrest, and reels him in. “Get up. I’m always carrying your load, don’t make me carry you too after your eighth.”

“What, after you shoot me in the head, so you can haul my limp body into the woods? Do you even own a real gun?”

“No, after you pass out facedown on the carpet. Do you enjoy the taste of plastic fiber? Is that what you’re into?”

“…Are you really asking me if I enjoy eating carpet? Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Holy Lord.” Cliff rolls his eyes, hauls one of Rick’s arms over his shoulder, and half-drags him to the bedroom, flinging him onto the bed. His swim trunks leave a wet spot. Rick just lies there, arms akimbo, staring at him. Cliff undoes the top button on the trunks, drags them halfway off, then pushes him over on his stomach so he can get the other half off. 

“…I’m not that drunk.”

“I know.” 

“So what’re you doing?”

“Being your full-time nanny.”

“I know you made me leave that fifth of Hennessy in the glass for a reason. You ain’t no AA counselor going to tell me there’s a power greater than myself.”

“That I did. And that I am not.” 

He takes Rick’s chin, twists it uncomfortably so he’s looking back at him, and gives him a stare. It’s almost like he can tell he threw a shot glass at his dressing room wall and threatened the man in the mirror. “Rick, you been reading the AA manual?”

“…Saw it on a billboard.”

“Yeah. Kay. But Rick, you know there is a power greater than yourself.”

“What, God? Like hell you’ve converted on me.” His neck is starting to hurt.

Cliff gives him a grin. “That’d be me.”

Deftly, he kicks Rick’s knees apart, and slides his hands up his thighs, just for the sake of the feel of it, until they meet his ass. He parts his cheeks and spits in the crack. Then he leans over to the nightstand and fumbles around in the drawer for the lube. It’s stuck in the back, behind something that feels like a hotel Bible. He coats his fingers, lets some drip on Rick’s ass, and unceremoniously sticks in first one finger, then the other.

“Wait, Cliff. Let me readjust my dick.”

“Shut up and hold still.” Then with one hand, he lifts up Rick’s torso and shifts his dick up from where it was caught in the sheets. That must’ve been damned uncomfortable, now that it’s starting to fill. With his left hand, he puts in a third finger, stirs it around for a while, then calls it good and slots in his dick. He watches, satisfied, as the plum head plops in, and waits a moment, accustoms himself to the insensate tightness of it.

“Wait, Cliff, shit. That hurts.” 

“Well fucking take it.” He shoves the rest of himself in. They both groan, Cliff from the feeling, Rick from the burn. He’s as stiff as a rock now. A blush is climbing up his neck. Rick moans. The lube’s smeared over his inner thighs and made them shiny. He hefts Rick’s ass up so he’s pressed tight against his crotch, his dick brushing air. Maybe he should’ve used a pillow. Or he could just make Rick brace himself.

He goes a bit slowly at first, just enjoying the hot, velvet clench. Rick’s breathing harshly. One hand wanders up to lightly press on his nipples. He circles the areola first, brushes the tip, hooks the edge of a nail into the center. Then he pinches and twists, brutally.

“Fuck!” Rick’s head tilts back. His hips judder against him, do a little twist. His other hand finds Rick’s left nipple. His right hand smooths down his side, his stomach, finds his armpit, which is an erogenous spot, strangely enough. Rick’s a funny guy. Sensitive inside and out. He plays all those drawling heavies, rolls to the floor sometimes, but get a hand on him real gentle, just the two of them like this, and he’s practically crying. It’s not like he can really throw down. It’s not like he’s a real villain. That’s what Cliff’s for.

Little sounds are curling out of the back of Rick’s throat. He puts one warm hand around his throat, just holding him there, like a collar. Twists his head gently around, just enough so he can see the tears gathering at the edges of his eyes. They’re probably out of frustration. He hasn’t hit his prostrate yet. And he won’t, not until he cries for it. Rick does so much crying out of bed, he should do more of it in it. Maybe then he could wring him out. Make him save his tears for him. 

“Ahh…Cliff…” Rick’s hips twist uselessly against his. He can’t get the right angle like this. Cliff goes back to circling around one nipple.

“What, baby?”

“Harder.”

“What?”

“Harder, goddamnit!”

“Sorry, I didn’t properly hear that. Maybe they weren’t proper words.” He slows down, slides his dick almost all the way out of Rick, until just the head’s inside. His thumb circles around the slick flesh where they’re joined, dips a nail in. He hasn’t touched his dick yet. He looks like he wants it, though.

Rick arches his back up and gasps. A wet spot forms on the sheets beneath his chin, above the larger dark spot their knees are digging in, left over from his trunks. He can’t see much like this, just the lithe line of his back, the muscles under the skin twisting. He can imagine, though, that Rick’s eyes are a little red, narrowed to stop the tears sliding out, and the head of his dick a dark plum, practically begging to be stroked a little, teased, petted, popped in and out of a fist. “Harder, Cliff, please! I’m practically praying here.” 

He spits on his dick with aim formed from his smoker’s habit, then slams his dick back in and starts fucking him like he means it. He presses Rick’s shoulders down into the mattress, raises his hips so the angle’s better, and the tone of Rick’s voice changes. He’s sobbing.

“Oh my god, Rick, please, right there, right there, harder!”

He does as the mistress pleases and goes harder. It’s probably hurting a little by now. He should make it hurt more. So he moves his hand up to Rick’s nipple, bites his nail into the head of it. Then his hand goes down and flicks the head of Rick’s dick. He makes sure to circle the base of it right after, just so he doesn’t come.

“Ahh, fuck!”

“Wait a moment, baby. It’s not hard enough yet.” His thumb moves over the head of his dick, brushes it lightly, just lightly, as if to soothe it. But the calluses on his fingers must feel rough. He puts the tip of his finger against the slit and wiggles.

“Mmmghh!” Rick puts his forehead against the sheets and pants harshly. His hips are attempting to drop, his knees weak. Cliff hauls them up again. He pins Cliff by the back of his neck, pressing his head there. Leans over to his shoulder for a kiss, just where the blade is jutting. His hips slow. Rick doesn’t even struggle. Just lies there, not breathing for a little while. Cliff waits, then bites, pulling the skin up between his teeth. Straightens up again. And keeps on going, this time with long, slow thrusts.

It takes a while before Rick comes. He’s begging him again to go faster, harder by the end, rolling his hips uselessly. After he does, Cliff doesn’t stop. Just makes sure the head of his dick’s lined up perfectly with his prostrate, and starts stroking his dick at last, pulling up from the base, rubbing in rough circles at the head, so Rick doesn’t have the chance to go soft. He’s sobbing again, begging this time for him to go softer, slower. Cliff speeds up, goes hard, grunting, until Rick’s voice fades out and he comes. He keeps rubbing at the head of his dick, soothing him as he cries and pants, pressing kisses to his shaking shoulders. “Shhh, baby. Shh.” He waits until Rick goes still. He’s halfway to passed out. Better than Hennessy any day. 

“Hey, Cliff?” His voice is slurred.

“What, baby?”

“Did you kill your wife?”

“Why, are you scared of dying?”

“Not right now.” 

His breathing slows. He’s asleep. Rick thumbs at the side of his face, his cheek, his wet eyelashes, leaving a trail of his own come across his cheekbone. Tucks himself in close and holds him tight. He should probably clean up. He’ll do that later.


End file.
